


In which Dominic Monaghan confesses certain things, realizes certain other things, and tries to become one with the universe.

by nigeltde



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nigeltde/pseuds/nigeltde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He should have known it would be this easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In which Dominic Monaghan confesses certain things, realizes certain other things, and tries to become one with the universe.

**Author's Note:**

> A story for Lainy on her birthday. Inspired in large part by Beizy'sORC report. Many thanks to Veronamay, enemy of adverbs everywhere, for beta duties.

It's a whole day after ORC when Billy and Dom finally get to go out together. Dom knows of this obscure little bar within staggering distance of the hotel so they go there; it's unlikely any of the fans will think of it. It's shabby but dark and mostly empty and they take a place at the bar, giggling, reminiscing, joking. Dom downs two Stellas before he even realizes it and despite the handicap of a rather neglectful bartender.

He's on his third beer when Billy says, grinning, "So, I heard you'll be making an honest hobbit out of me," and for a moment Dom is seriously pressed to think of what Billy is talking about. He talks about marriage to so many people--didn't he get engaged to Elijah this morning, actually? He was half asleep at the time and Lij is always incomprehensible over the phone--but then he remembers his ORC panel and assumes a grave face.

"Who blabbed?"

"Oh, about everyone."

"Well, Billy, I _was_ joking. But if you didn't deny the rumour then I don't know what we'll do. You'd like to be a June bride, I suppose? I think my wedding present to you will be a long Rosie Cotton wig and we can put flowers in it, you'll be gorgeous."

But Billy's not even looking at him now, he's staring at all the liquor on the shelves in front of them. He finishes his drink in a long gulp and signals the bartender for another, and Dom can't help noticing that that makes four empty glasses on the bar next to Dom's two. How is it Billy is drinking more than he is? They're supposed to match up perfectly.

"You think Johnny Depp's sexy too, eh?"

Dom heaves an internal sigh. It was only a matter of time, he supposes, before they came round to this again; Astin must have drawn up a roster at some point. "If this is leading where I think it's leading--"

"Dom--"

"A man can say Johnny Depp's sexy and still be straight," he says, flatly.

"I know that! I say Johnny Depp's sexy and I'm straight!"

Billy seems more exasperated than anything else but he's a determined little bugger when he wants to be and Dom already knows how this conversation will end. Nervous anticipation starts his belly fluttering and he drinks more beer to settle it down. It doesn't really work so he sends down more for reinforcement. He wants to say it's not a big deal, because it really isn't, and they all know already, so why press the point? But that makes him wonder why he never really got around to outright telling anyone, and he's not sure if he wants to go there.

"You're going to have to tell someone sooner or later," Billy says, startling him. "And it's _me_, here."

Long overdue, the bartender appears to deliver Billy's drink and collect their empty glasses, and Dom has a chance to think. Billy's right, although he's a little pissed that he didn't get to do this on his own terms. But what the hell, embrace the moment. He takes a deep breath.

"Billy."

Billy looks at him, takes in his expression, and starts valiantly trying to contain a grin, the bastard. He just barely succeeds, but the mood has already spread and Dom can feel a smile starting to appear on his own face. His nervousness dissipates--of its own accord, apparently, because the beer he sent down there has in fact gone north and his head is buzzing like anything--but its twitchy energy remains and he feels like jumping up and down.

Instead, he says grandly: "Billy, my lad, it's quite possible that, in my time upon this earth, I have succumbed to the charms of not only the fairer sex, but also the, well, the manlier one."

His confession leaves him a bit dazed and lightheaded, but that could also be the beer or it could be the brilliant smile Billy's now aiming at him. Dom decides it's probably a combination of all three and jumps off of his stool just to prove that he can. His feet crunch something and then stick worryingly to the carpet. What does he do now? What happens? He knew he should have seen _In and Out_ when it was on cable the other night.

Billy solves his problem for him by signalling the bartender again, and he sits back down.

"The pinkest, girliest, fruitiest drink you can make, please, for my friend here," orders Billy, and then turns to him and claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him back and forth a bit. He says fondly, "You see, I know best. You should always listen to your Uncle Bills."

Dom ducks his head, and they wait in not uncomfortable silence. Billy, it seems, has exhausted his post-outage conversational repertoire already, which is surely quite bad form after all that fuss, but Dom doesn't mind. He feels connected to every man and woman who has ever been in this situation, this suddenly officially out to another person moment. There must be billions of them.

The drink, when it comes, is not pink. It is, however, magnificently green and frothy, deceptively alcoholic, and tastes like his lip balm, and Dom forgives the bartender all surliness. Geniuses are allowed their eccentricities.

A wave of affection for Billy flows through him; he should have known it would be this easy. He tries to force his fingers to stop fidgeting, his body to stop twitching, his mind to concentrate and appreciate this moment. It will not come again.

******

The cool air outside seems to sober Billy up somewhat but it does Dom no such favours. The mystery girly drink sits heavily on all that beer and they combine to destroy his brains and his balance, so Billy slings an arm across his back in support. It's well-meaning and it feels nice, but it doesn't help much, and on the way back to the hotel Dom is forced to apologise to two people (one of them Billy), three streetlamps, a postbox, and a hardware store.

At one point Billy stops, disentangles his arm (how did his fingers get _there?_), and turns to give Dom a proper hug. "You're so brave," he murmurs into Dom's ear. "You're like Davy Crockett but with nicer hats. I'm right proud of you." In between trying to keep his knees locked and trying to get some air that's not Billy's beer breath, Dom attempts to come up with an appropriate answer. He fails miserably, of course, but it's just then that the cat incident happens and after they've checked themselves for bleeding they continue on their merry way, no reply needed; sure proof of an interventionist god, Dom reckons.

He feels a little straighter (no pun intended) by the time they get up to his room. The art of fitting the keycard to its slot, however, is beyond him, and the hallway begins to revolve up over his head, down, and around again. He slowly leans forward and rests his head on the polished pine surface of the door. He can feel Billy, shoulder against the wall, gazing at him, but he doesn't care. He tries to draw strength from the wood by sheer osmosis. How tall was this when it was a tree? How high did its branches reach into the sky? How deep did its roots plunge?

His thoughts are interrupted by Billy's warm dry hand pressing against his, prying his fingers apart, taking the keycard. The hallway stops spinning.

"Come on, Dommie," Billy murmurs. He opens the door and maneuvers Dom inside and onto the bed. Then he opens the fridge, surveys the impressive minibar selection, and plucks out two bottles. Dom closes his eyes. Is it just him or is Billy really set on getting drunk tonight?

Billy, he says, then opens his mouth and tries again. "Billy."

"Hmmm?"

"What's up?" Rattling and clinking from Billy's direction. "Is it--" He doesn't want to say her name. Ali's so pretty, so graceful, so nice. It's embarrassing. "Is it home?" His answer this time is a cold glass pressed into his hand. He opens his eyes. The contents are clear. Probably water, then.

"Vodka? Lovely idea, mate, and I too am interested in what colour my vomit will be. And how do you feel about cleaning it up?"

"Don't be daft. It's sulphuric acid." Pretty weak coming from Billy, but he's got that twinkle in his eye like he wants to be entertained, he wants something fun, a change. Dom has a brainwave. He puts his glass on the floor, jumps up, wobbles for a second, then claps his hands together.

"Scrabble!" He announces. "Travel scrabble! Yeah, it's perfect right now. Hold on a second." He checks his suitcase. Yup, still there; three years old and used a total of once, but still carted around hopefully every now and then. He carries it to the table and sets it up. It's difficult turn the little letters over with his drunken clumsy fingers (so different to Billy's slender hands), and Billy, sitting opposite, sipping his drink and being totally unhelpful, is a distraction, but eventually Dom is victorious. He pumps his arms in the air; this will be his night, he can _feel_ it.

"The board is set!" he declares.

"The pieces are moving," chimes in Billy, right on time, and they both giggle. Billy's nose crinkles up in the cutest way.

The theme of the game is set early, when Billy spells out "come" on his first turn, and they take it in turns to up each other in the most sex-related word stakes whenever possible. Dom's personal best is "buttock", one of the Ts turning a vertical "um" (not one of Dom's finer moments) into "tum" which is an additional five points, all seven letters used, double word score, and a double letter on the K. Ninety-five points all told.

"I think that is the highest scoring word I've ever played, ever," he says, mightily pleased with himself. He contemplates telling Billy to pack it in and doing a little victory dance right now when Billy says,

"Well then, you've never played Scrabble with a master," and cackles like a madman. Dom watches in horror as Billy lays down the word "bonk" on his K, using the top right triple word score, then sees that it only comes to 30 points anyway. He points this out.

"Ah," says Billy, "but it also spells "knob", so I get it twice, and I get a 100 point bonus for the two sex-est words ever."

"Never!" cries Dom. "You bloody cheater!"

Billy grins the widest, cheekiest grin ever at Dom and Dom suddenly realizes that this thing, this small thing inside him that he's carried around ever since he met Billy, is actually huge, massive, it touches every single part of him. Surely Billy can see it, surely it's shining out of him, out of his eyes, his teeth, his hair, his bloody _fingernails_, surely he must have "love you" written on his eyelids like an Indiana Jones fangirl. Maybe he _does_, he thinks, aghast. Or maybe he just has a really weird expression on his face, because Billy's grin has faded, and he's got an odd look on his face as well.

Dom shoots to his feet, only just succeeding in keeping his chair upright. "I've got to--" he says, but his brain is stuck in a loop and all he can think of is Billy's grin and the lurching jump his worldview has taken, so he flees to the bathroom before he can even finish the sentence.

There, he considers throwing up, but he's not that drunk anymore, so he just stands at the basin and looks in the mirror. What a stupid fucker you are, he thinks at himself. Is this just like the other thing? Does everyone know? Billy probably does, and the thought makes his stomach dark and cold.

He's frozen for a few minutes like that, clutching the rim of the sink, and then he has to take a piss. When he's done, he washes his hands, gulps some water from the tap, and goes back out, determined to do something, even if it's just making sure Billy doesn't bolt.

Billy has abandoned the game in favour of the couch by the window, perching on its back and staring out at the night like a right maudlin bastard. Dom joins him, sitting carefully so that their combined weight doesn't tip the couch over. He can see the little sets of lights that mean cars zooming around, stopping, turning, occasionally bashing into one another, and it seems that there's actually still someone at the office in the next block over. Dom points towards the hunched figure, but Billy speaks first.

"So, what colour was it?"

His _piss_? Oh, his vomit. "It wasn't...I didn't..." and he feels stupid again, because how can he steal Billy away from the girl he was meant to be with if he can't even complete a sentence? The sense of purpose moving about had lent him has dissolved utterly and he feels like he's on a sinking ship and he's just forgotten how to swim. How to go about even _starting_ to swim.

"Sorry," he says, and he can tell, it already sounds exactly as desperate and final out loud as in his head. "Sorry, but I think I'm in love with you."

Billy's head whips around and he stares at Dom. "_What?_" He's shocked, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

"I only just figured it out." Dom feels like he should be panicking, but he's not. He's tense, though, maybe tenser than he's ever been, and his muscles are starting to ache from it. "No, actually, I think it's been there a long time. I know you don't want it, so I sort of forgot about it, but now..." His throat is dry and useless but he forces more out. "I'm sorry Billy, but I had to say something."

Billy still has the look of a stunned mullet. He turns back to the window, blinking out at the sky, the lights, the cars. "You’re right, I didn't want it, not like that," he says, and Dom nods and turns numb, but then Billy gets off the couch and moves to stand in front of Dom, rests his hands on Dom's thighs. "But what the hell do I know?"

Dom can feel his own mouth starting to gape, but the expression doesn't have much time to register because Billy leans in and kisses him, soft tongue stifling any words of surprise. It feels so good that Dom's first instinct is to distrust that it's actually happening, which, of course, doesn't stop him spreading his knees and pulling Billy closer. All the tension inside him melts and trickles away leaving him hot, even hotter when Billy reaches up a hand to clasp the back of his neck, and their teeth clack together twice before Dom shifts forward and tilts his head a little and _there_, they hit a rhythm and Billy sucks his tongue and squeezes his neck and thigh and Dom can suddenly appreciate Billy's ability to multitask on a whole new, fun level.

The couch chooses this moment to tip slowly backwards, and Dom is forced break the kiss and hop off before it overbalances entirely. After an interminable pause its two front legs thud back onto the carpet and he moves back to lean on it. Billy moves with him, staying close, his hand still on Dom's neck. He rests his forehead on Dom's and they try to regain their breath in the thick intimacy of this new shared space.

"Ali called me today," Billy says quietly, after an age. "I told her I have to talk to her when I get back. I admit that I may have had a vague idea of ulterior motives when I took you out tonight."

Right, Dom thinks, and then, oh, _right_.

He lets go of Billy's shirt to move to the window and look down at the street, which is stupid, because vertigo takes hold of him and he feels a sudden pressing need to revisit the bathroom.

"Lime green," he says, when he comes out a minute later, mouth rinsed, fresh as a mint. "Scary." And Billy says,

"Right, well, that answers that question," and then Dom grabs him and kisses him again.  
The end.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback/concrit welcome.
> 
> [Rebloggable tumblr link for those so inclined.](http://nigeltde-fic.tumblr.com/post/131343981201/in-which-dominic-monaghan-confesses-certain)


End file.
